Chapter 14: Befriending A Strange God

In the past, a God’s name and title were passed on. Only Bathala knows how a fellow divinity disappears from grace, whether they would live again or vanish for eternity.

In the mountains near the forests of Hapilanda, the old keeper was gone.

But the peaks demand a name. And so, he wears it now—the new Dumakulem. Not the first, not yet a legend, but the next to shoulder the earth’s quiet weight.

The successor to that name had been reborn.

A young God, born out of the natural cycle. The moment he gained consciousness, he understood what his duty was; to guard the mountains, protect the forests, and defend the lives within them.

One fateful day, he crossed paths with a young mortal boy. The earth itself whispered the boy’s name: Silayan of the Luan Clan. From that moment on, little Dumakulem observed that human every time he came to offer something—rituals meant to please the gods, the goddesses, the spirits, the deities… whoever it was the boy worshipped.

Seasons passed.

Then, on a bright day, as the boy performed yet another ritual, little Dumakulem appeared before him. The young God blessed him, sending goodwill his way. Acknowledging that this was one of the lives he would protect, unless Bathala themselves forbade it.

What Dumakulem didn’t know… was that this mortal could see the gods in flesh.

Their eyes met abruptly during that ritual.

And a small, grateful smile curved on Silayan’s lips, as he bowed in reverence.

* * *

“Thou hast befriended a God…?” questioned Darahi, her voice as soft as moss, yet laced with quiet surprise.

“Indeed so,” Silayan replied, seated upon the woven mat of vines and leaves, whilst Darahi's hands weaved delicate flowers into his dark hair. “A newborn he was, yet bearing the name Dumakulem. Mayhap, anon, a new Anagolay shall rise as well.”

“Perchance, aye. Or perchance not,” came Ilaya's voice as she approached, her arms brimming with ripe fruit, the scent of the forest upon her skin. She peeled the golden mango with deft fingers, offering it to the boy.

Darahi's gaze lingered upon the faint shimmer of blessings that danced about the mortal’s form. Unseen to most, yet unmistakable to her eyes, ancient as the roots beneath the soil. “To be favoured by a God, and to count thyself their friend… these be not one and the same.”

Silayan tilted his head, the innocence of his youth writ plain upon his face. “And how, good guardian, might I forge such friendship with a god of the mountain?”

Darahi smiled then, the corner of her lips curling like the petals of the salingbobog in bloom. She spoke with the patience of one who had watched countless springs and autumns pass.

“To earn the friendship of a fledgling God,” she began, braiding another blossom into his hair, “thou must not bring mere offerings, nor utter prayers alone. The young ones, they walk the earth as mortals walk. They watch, they wonder, they err.”

Ilaya plucked a small blossom and tucked it behind Silayan's ear, her eyes glinting like moonlight upon water. “Show thyself true, child of Alaya. Let him see thee in thy joys, thy sorrows, thy tempers and thy fears. The gods may love worship, but they cherish understanding more.”

Darahi nodded in agreement. “Dumakulem yet be young, still unshaped by worship and legend. Befriend him as thou wouldst a boy, not as a deity to be feared.”

Silayan's eyes shone with curiosity, a gentle smile forming upon his lips. “As a boy…? Aye, I can do such a thing.”

Ilaya laughed lightly, setting the woven basket aside. “Then go, little mortal, let him know thee not as servant nor supplicant, but as companion.”

The trees rustled as though amused, the forest itself seeming to lean in closer.

And from the peaks where clouds kissed the earth, the young Dumakulem, unseen, watched.

As Silayan rose, the mango cradled in his palm and blossoms woven through his dark hair, he darted off toward the woodland's edge, eager as spring’s first bloom, his mind alight with the promise of divine friendship.

Ilaya lingered, her fingers brushing stray petals from her lap, her eyes trailing after the boy until his form disappeared betwixt the trees.

“Thinkest thou…” she began softly, voice rippling like water upon still ponds, “that mortals may truly befriend a God?”

Darahi’s hands folded neatly upon her lap, her gaze distant, older than the stones beneath them. “A fanciful hope, mayhap. Gods walk apart from men for good cause. Their hearts are woven of storm and starfire, not of clay and fleeting years.”

Ilaya tilted her head, plucking a strand of silken vine from her wrist. “And yet… doth it not stir thee, the thought? That in his eyes, the world be woven whole — that gods and mortals alike are but companions waiting to meet?”

Darahi’s lips curved faintly, though sorrow lingered beneath. “His heart is steeped in wonder, as befits one so young. I fear this world shall chisel that wonder away, as rivers carve stone.”

“Still…” Ilaya whispered, her voice near-lost to the rustling canopy, “let him dream. If naught else, the earth remembers those bold enough to try.”

Darahi rose, brushing the earth from her woven skirts, her gaze drifting to the peaks veiled in cloud, where unseen eyes yet lingered.

“And perchance,” Darahi added, “even the gods tire of their solitude.”

* * *

Years passed like falling leaves. Silayan was no longer the tiny boy tripping over tree roots. He was taller now, sun-touched skin, his steps sure on the mossy trails of Hapilanda.

But even now, Dumakulem never strayed far.

The young mountain god lingered at the edges of the forest, unseen by other mortals, but always trailing behind Silayan. Like a quiet shadow, a protector disguised in the rustle of leaves, the gust of wind when the boy nearly slipped, or the roots gently shifting to steady his feet.

It became… routine.

Silayan offering fruits beneath the trees.

Dumakulem watching from the cliffs.

Requesting rain from his sister, Anitun Tabu, when the boy stayed too long in the heat.

Now, they wandered side by side, the god no longer hiding his presence. The mountain had long welcomed Silayan, the young man belonged here as much as the trees themselves.

They stumbled near a clearing, the ground uneven, vines tangling at their feet. In an awkward misstep, Silayan lost his balance, his body tipping into Dumakulem’s arms—close, too close, their breaths mingling in the thick mountain air.

Dumakulem’s gaze flickered, amused. His voice rumbled low, “Why not bind me with a Tanikala? So I would be yours. Beck and call.”

Silayan, flushed from nearly falling, let out a crisp laugh. “A God bowing down to a human? That would be shameful. Even Anagolay, who is generally cheerful and stands for equality, hates such things.”

But Dumakulem only tilted his head, “Darahi, Ilaya, even the Saliw Kalikas were happy to stand beside you. Why would I, the mountain's vanguard, be ashamed?”

Silayan’s lips curved softly, fingers brushing stray leaves from Dumakulem’s hair, “You’re far too strange for a god.”

Dumakulem’s grin faded.

Something unreadable settled over the young god’s face; a silent, sharp like cool mist brushing stone. His gaze dipped to Silayan’s wrist, where the skin bloomed red from when he’d stumbled, caught by Dumakulem's grip too tight, too sudden.

Without teasing words this time, Dumakulem steadied him upright, warm fingers curling around Silayan’s bruised wrist with surprising care. He traced over the injured skin, faint glow passing from palm to pulse.

“Careless,” the god whispered, voice soft, brushing away the ache. “you bruise easily.”

Silayan chuckled, eyes crinkling, “You shouldn’t waste your healing capabilities on such trivial wounds.”

“This is not trivial. Until I learn how to hold you without hurting your flesh, I will.”

“Great guardian, I am not a fragile twig.”

…

…

…

Silay hissed softly as Li pressed the cold pack against his wrist. Faint, irritated bruises marked the skin. The exact spot Li’s grip had clamped earlier.

“I’m sorry,” Li repeated, voice back to its calm timbre, not meeting Silay’s eyes as he adjusted the ice pack, fingers moving with doctor’s precision.

Silay’s gaze drifted, breath catching faintly.

That sensation again, the pressure, the touch, a lingering warmth from an old, half-forgotten world curled at the edge of his chest. Just like those dreams.

“You bruise easily…” Li caressed it tenderly, “I should have been more careful.”

Silay was quiet.

“Silay?” Li’s voice pulled him back. “Does it hurt?”

The doctor blinked, memory retreating like fog clearing, “I’m fine. I’m not that delicate.”

Li’s brows pinched in worry however he nodded, focusing on wrapping Silay’s wrist. His hands, steady now, moved like they had countless times in med school but for Silay, it wasn’t just the ice-cold pack pressing away the ache.

It was an old sensation.

Strange… It really is such a strange feeling.

Silay blinked, the haze of his thoughts clearing. He gently tugged his arm away and stood, flexing his wrist as if brushing off the heaviness.

“Come on.” His voice steadied, sharp edges gone, replaced by something firmer. “We’ll talk while I drive. Call Itel’s phone too.”

Li hesitated for a breath, but nodded, reaching for his phone.

Silay stepped toward the door.

He wasn’t used to this version of Li—the one quiet, slumped, guilt pooling around his shoulders like dead weight. The Li he knew teased the life out of him, never missed an opening to throw a jab, cocky and careless as ever.

But now? The man looked like he was about to crawl into a grave and offer himself in repayment for a single bruise.

Silay shook his head, exhaling sharply.

“If I’m a drama prince,” he muttered, unlocking the door. “he’s a drama princess…”

Inside the car once again, Li reached for the passenger door, his hand hovering mid-air before he abruptly reconsidered. With a grimace, he circled to the back seat and slipped inside, shoulders sagged, eyes glued to his phone as he dialed.

Silay wasted no time. The engine rumbled to life, tires rolling as he eased the car onto the road. His hand went briefly to his own phone at a red light, tapping out a quick message:

[Silay: Is Itel with you?]

[Silay: Chat back ASAP.]

No reply yet.

“Itel isn’t answering.” Li’s voice cut through the quiet, tone flat with simmering concern.

Silay's jaw twitched as he maneuvered through the lanes. His foot eased off the accelerator as brake lights glowed ahead, traffic building.

“Keep calling her.” 

Silay’s phone screen lit up with consecutive messages:

[Suliyao: Yes.]

[Suliyao: Pick her up. I knocked her out.]

[Suliyao: Gently. I knocked her out, gently. I didn’t hurt her.]

[Suliyao: Come here as soon as you’re able.]

Silay nearly slammed the brakes out of disbelief.

How on earth are they in Cavite already? His eyes flicked to the clock on the dashboard. No way they could’ve gotten that far ahead of him, unless—

“Hey,” Li called from the back seat, “what’s that face? Who texted?”

Silay didn’t answer. His grip tightened on the wheel as they coasted along the highway, headlights reflecting on the windshield. The hum of the engine filled the silence for a moment before Li spoke again:

“So… why exactly are you hanging out with that guy? Last time you helped him, wasn’t the favor paid back already? It’s supposed to end there.”

Silay kept his eyes on the road, his thumb tapping anxiously on the steering wheel. “I need something from him.”

Li leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the back of the front seat. “Is it something you can’t get on your own? Or I can’t help you with?”

“No.”

That answer didn’t seem to satisfy him. Li exhaled through his nose, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to decode Silay’s entire life.

“Is this about those dreams you told me about when we were kids?” Li’s voice softened, careful but still sharp with concern.

Silay hesitated, his jaw working. “…Maybe.”

Li ruffled his own hair in frustration, leaning back against the seat with a groan. “And you think he can help with that?”

“He said he’s a shaman.” Silay’s tone was flat, but even he knew how ridiculous that might sound out loud.

There was silence for a moment, then the sound of Li smacking his palm over his face.

“A shaman,” Li repeated, dragging the words out as if they tasted bitter. “You’re getting scammed, aren’t you? He’s got you doing weird rituals? Gonna push you into debt? Look, just tell me how much it is. I’ll help you pay it back, okay?”

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll staple your mouth.” Silay deadpanned, eyes never leaving the road.

Li snorted, clearly not taking the threat seriously, though didn’t push further on that topic.

The hum of the tires against the pavement returned, but Li’s voice rose again, quieter this time. “He’s been staying with you for weeks now… Where does he sleep?”

Silay’s right eye twitched. “The guest room.”

“Isn’t that my room in your house?”

“No.”

Li made a betrayed sound at the back of his throat, sinking into the seat as if the world itself had turned on him. 

As the streetlights blurred past the windows, Silay’s mind drifted, debating internally whether it was a good idea to drag Li along for this. But considering Itel was knocked out and someone had to drive her home…

Fine, he thought. Better him than leaving her alone.

But he already knew tonight wouldn’t end quietly.

Author’s Notes:

Dumakulem: God of mountains, forests, and hunting. Son of Idiyanale (goddess of labor/agriculture) and Dimangan (god of good harvest).

His Wife, Anagolay: Goddess of lost things. Often called the daughter of Lakapati (goddess of fertility) and Mapulon (god of seasons).